Winter in Glasgow
by Anrel
Summary: TF2 based original rp. Thomas McGregor had just graduated from Detra's H-core program and decided to pay his late father a visit, only to meet a "ghost". Tolouse had a proposition for him. The spy's plan? Take down an organization. Suicide? Perhaps.
1. Ch1: Fate

Chapter 1~ Fate

It was snowing in Glasgow, an early warning winter was just over the horizon. A light snow, comforting almost as the first sign of winter always held that feeling just before it coated the city in white. The sun was overtaken by the grim gray clouds that lay along the city skyline. The grass lay with frozen dew that crunched underneath the Scotsman's feet as he walked through the cemetery, stopping only once he had reached the grave of the late Porter Ammadon- Aug1929 to May 1961. There was nothing else on the head stone, just the mans birth and death date. His son, now standing in front of him after eight whole years without talking to, seeing, or even sending a letter to the man. He never even attended his funeral. Porter Ammadon was dead to him, as was Thomas McGregor might have been to the old man. The two never had gotten along in the past. They had nothing special, nothing to hide but nothing to tell. They went along their lives, separate, even if they had once lived in the same household. He took a long drag from the Maverick classic that lay between his lips. Taking out a bottle from the paper bag he brought with him, the newly trained heavy gripped the cork between his teeth to loosen it, giving it a little wiggle before aiming it away from himself. He knelt down to the grave and gave a heavy sigh, blowing smoke that he had held in out and onto the stone.

A sarcastic chuckle came from him, forced and hollow, he spoke lightly to the cold stone in front of him. "Tha' stone fi's yeh Por'er. Plain an' cold, tha' be yeh to a tee...... I brough' yeh somethin yeh drunk bastard." He flicked the cork a little bit, and just like he thought, the pressure spit the cork out and the liquor poured out, a little foamy. Shaking off the little bit that had seeped on his clothes, he took a swig or two from the bottle. "Don' know 'ow yeh can even drink this. I'eh 'as 'orrible taste. Pre'eh flat..." He grew silent for a moment before continuing. "... Yeh nevar were a good father, yeh know...... surprised they even gave you a proper burial. Eh, bu' they dinnae go fanceh with yeh eithar...." The surrounding headstones had more detail, having been placed by mourning loved ones. The ex-demo stood and gave a small salute to the headstone of Captain Porter Ammadon. "Cheers...." he tilted the bottle over and let it all poor out on top of the headstone till the bottle was all gone. When it was gone, he set the bottle gently down in front of the headstone and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small book of matches. He struck one match against the paper and lit the others with it, and when all of the matches were lit, he placed it on the top of the headstone. It took just a moment to catch the liquid on fire, and when it did the flames dragged down the headstone and slowly started to dissipate. "Well tha's a disappointmen'. I'eh dinnae even burn righ'. Wo' a waste of me moneh."

Tolouse toyed with the cigarette between his teeth as his fancy dress shoes made soft crunch sounds on the freshly fallen snow. He looked like any other person visiting the grave of a loved one. A dark suit, a single flower in his gloved hands, and his eyes obscured by dark sunglasses. But if one really looked something was off. He was too finely dressed, too proper in his mannerisms, and a bit too relaxed. And if you were really paying attention, he was smoking a Gitanes Blonde. The stranger paused, watching Thomas. At the end of the little reverie, he called out to the heavy. "You pick an unusual day to send your respects, Monsieur." No he definitely did not belong. And if Tom was paying attention, he would recognize the smell as being the same brand /Johnny/ smoked. He strode several rows past to a plain gravestone near the back of the cemetery. When he was certain no one was looking, he knelt down and brushed the snow off the gravestone. Then he set the flower, a blood red lily, on the cold stone. He began whispering to no one in particular. "Heh. Ces pierres sont censés être là où ze morts sont couchés pour se reposer. Et ici, je fléchis les genoux, une contradiction à pied. Portant une seule fleur sur la pierre qui porte mon nom propre. Il n'ya pas de corps enterrés ici, mais la personne que j'étais est mort. Je ne viens pas ici pour pleurer un être cher, mais une vie que j'ai laissé derrière. Et l'amour que j'ai laissée. Une fleur unique que je laisse ici à l'égard de la personne que je ne peux pas retourner à. Je lui demande de me pardonner de ne pas revenir. Les mots que j'ai toujours voulu dire était "jusqu'à ce que la mort nous sépare», mais je peux seulement dire que dans la mort nous reverrons. " He set the lit cigarette next to the lone flower and stood. "Aur revoir, mon amour." He pulled a fresh cigarette out of a pack stashed in his pocket and lit with an elaborate zippo lighter. "I 'ope you can find anozzeur who loved you as I did, Jean."

Thomas McGregor looked over just a moment when he was addressed by the strange man, being downwind from the man as he payed his respect to a stone just a few rows away. He inhaled. That smell, that tantalizing reminder of love back in Arizona. But he had told himself he couldn't go back to Johnny, he couldn't go back and break his heart. The man he had been when he had left Well was a completely different man that stood in front of the grave now. He had always been grim, but now, not even anger could be felt passed the hollow walls that H-core had bore into him. He never really left the place, the cold and barren feeling followed him from Russia all the way back home in Glasgow. No, he couldn't go back like that. It'd be torture on his lover, not being able to love him back. He stood there and closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of that specific brand, thinking about that pyro and those beautiful red waves. Those chocolate eyes. Before H-core he might have been about to shed a tear, but now.... nothing. He sighed and took a letter out of his pocket and turning it over in his hands. It was a very short letter, light. Probably the most blunt and hollow letter he had ever written in his entire life. He raised his head to look at the man, only catching a few words of french that Milo had taught him years ago. Contradiction.... no body.... a love left........ flower.... not returning.... until death..... It sounded quite strange for him to hear those words, but it wasn't any of his business. No, and he felt that maybe those words could also be meant for him at the moment, not being able to go back to his own love. He forced out a few grunts when he heard the name of the person the man was mourning. John.... how ironic that their loves were the same. He turned the letter over in his hand. Was it better to send a letter? No, Johnny would come for him. That he was sure of. A strong gust of wind took hold, strong enough to even push the heavy a little bit. A southern wind snatched the letter from his hands and blew out the fire. It tossed the letter a few times before it landed a few rows up. He pulled his hair out of his face and started for the letter, slowly.

Tolouse snatched up the letter on the ground and turned to look behind him. One hand reached into his thick coat as he looked around. There was a miniscule glint of silver peeking out from the gap. Either it was a very low hanging piece of jewelry, or he was armed. But he only saw the one man from before. He relaxed a little, slipping back into that illusion of a regular person. He strode past the rows of much fancier tombstones to meet Thomas halfway. "I believe you dropped zis, monsieur." When he held out the letter to return it, he finally saw to whom it was addressed. That name. No. It couldn't be. Could it? The shock on his face melted back into an unreadable poker face. "Ah, monsieur, can I speak to you about somezzing? In private perhaps?" He was taking a big risk here. But this was something he had to know. It was worth potentially being discovered by those who he had faked his own death to avoid. "Sorry if I am intruding, but zis will only take a moment. I promise." For once in his life, he meant those last two words.

Thomas looked up when he heard the french mans voice. It was the man who addressed him earlier. Stopped and let the man meet him, reaching and taking the letter back. The mans eyes were on the letter while the heavies was fixated on the mans face. He noticed the drastic change in expressions before the man recollected himself. Something was off about him. The heavy grew suspicious. He had no weapons on him, he could just use brute force if anything of the sort were to be needed, but time time around he'd rather avoid conflict. It was one good thing that came out of H-core., learning how to chose his fights. "Thanks." He pocketed the letter and started to back away from the man, his expression changing slightly. "No." He said simply to the mans question and backed up a good row of headstones before starting to turn away. The feeling behind the mans words are what made him stop. He turned back to the man, glaring. "Wo'?"

Tolouse let out an internal sigh of relief when It turned out NOT to be an assasin coming to kill him. But that look Thomas was giving him was far from comforting. "Ze man zat letter is adressed to. Can you describe him to me?" He paused, careful of how much he revealed at once. "Ze name is similar to an old friend of mine. I want to know if it is ze same person." He didn't dare say the name out loud when they were that far away. He slowly stepped closer to Tom with both hands raised in the air to show he was not a threat. It was still a risky maneuver. When they were close enough to whisper he stopped and spoke again. "You see, I once knew a Jean Banks. 'E and I were very close." That sentence elicited the barest hint of a smile that cracked through the mask of sorts. You had to be looking to notice. "But I 'aven't seen or 'eard from ze man in years. I suppose what I am trying to find out is if 'e is ze same Jean Banks you wrote zat letter for."

Thomas had taken a half step back when the man came closer to him. What an odd question to be asked, why would the man care anyway? The more the conversation continued the more nervous Tom became. The only other person Johnny knew outside of the base was Tolouse, besides the pyro's own family that is. And that spy was supposed to be dead. He didn't want to give Johnny away either. Not to some stranger. Unless.... this could have been a long shot, he could be off by miles. But damn this might be his last chance at ever saying anything. If this was who he thought it was then he had so many questions to ask. Which one to start with? Why? No, he understood why. Maybe it wasn't even a question he wanted to ask. But he couldn't come right out and say it. Oh god the man would probably flip a lid. ".... I dinnae think so.... He's a wee bi' shor'er than I...." he could feel a slight prick in his side as he thought about Johnny's eyes again. Tom was almost sure he found Tolouse, but was he willing to give Johnny back. Moments ago he had been pondering about doing exactly what Tolouse did. He ran his fingers over the letter a moment and looked back at the spy. "You walked ou' on 'im." Maybe he'd spark something with that particular statement.

Tolouse nodded. "Zat sounds about right. Petit, and wiz bright red 'air." looked down at the snow covered ground. "Heh. If you knew about /zat/, you must be somezzing special to 'im. I 'ad no choice but to run. Zey wanted me dead." He ran gloved fingers through his blond locks. "And zey would 'ave killed 'im to get to me. Of zat I am certain. So I broke 'is 'eart to save 'im." He took off his shades to look Tom square in the eyes with no barrier between the two of them. "I am a liar, cheat, whore, and murderer. But ze ONLY act I regret is leaving 'im. I can see zat you care about Jean. Take care of 'im for me."

Thomas didn't speak, he didn't give one sing word of acknowledgment. No act of repulse either. He just stared at the spy, letting precious moments pass by, and then turned away. What the heavy was thinking, not even the spy could detect. Detra's training was likely the cause of this... lack of a proper response. Who could blame him? Had he met the spy before going for training at that wretched organization, he would have attacked the man. Get as many hits on the taller man before he could be detained all the while, screaming, at the top of his lungs on what the man had put his love through. He would have kept berating him, calling him every name under the sun, challenging the mans act of love as an act of a coward. He had if not for the training. One would probably consider that a good thing. He, however didn't, rather having some form of reaction than just a cold blank stare. In all honesty he would have if he could, not having any of that uncontrolled emotion at the present moment. "I won't beh taken care of 'im." With his back turned to the spy, the heavy made his way down the hill and possibly to the barren, empty apartment he called home.

Tolouse sighed. "Zen we are both the worst kind of sinners. Beyond saving." Instead of walking away, he followed Tom away from the cemetery. "In zat case, what if I told you zere was a way to erase ze pyro's troubles? He deserves better zan what 'as been pushed on 'im. What would you risk for Jean's sake?" The spy's mask slipped again. He was giving Thomas a madman's grin. "If we cannot go back to 'im, zen we can at least take out ze ones who would do him 'arm." He reached into his coat again and pulled out a business card. "If you are interested, zen meet me at zis address at ze time specified on ze back." It was the business card of a pawn shop. "If not, zen at least tell Jean zat I will see 'im again, one way or anozzeur." Then he stopped, took a bow, and walked away. "If I do not see you again, Bon voyage monsieur."

Thomas had expected the man to walk away, to go on with his life. He didn't expect to be followed, much less continue the conversation. Though the subject at hand did peak his interest. Looking at the man, hearing the tinge of that smile in his voice. Take them out? Why not? It could be fun, it wasn't like he was going back to Well anytime soon, if ever. He took the card without hesitation, didn't look at it, just pocketed it. He wanted to bitch Tolouse out when he said he'd see Johnny again. He knew damn well that it wouldn't happen. And Tolouse did too. Keeping his cold hazel orange eyes on the suave spy till he left, then the heavy took out the card and looked it over. He knew where the pawn shop was, having stolen and sold items there once or twice as a child. When he glanced back up, the man was gone. The wind picked up again, biting his cheeks and throwing his hair about wildly. Tucking up his color he headed to that barren apartment, stopping in a liquor store on the way. The keys clanged in the little glass bowl just inside the door and he closed the squeaky old wooden door. The scotsman unzipped his heavy coat and threw it over the old rocking chair. It squeaked as it rocked back and forth. A noise he had dreaded in the past he now welcomed. Unwrapping the Ivanhoff brand vodka and placing it on the table a moment when a chill went up his spine. A quick glance around the apartment revealed the living room window had opened, the wind pushing against the frame strong enough to make it creak as it swung on its hinges. He inhaled and slipped his hand into his back pocket, taking out the pocket knife and flicking it open as he walked to shut the window, locking it.

And now he swept the place, checking the rooms for any intruders. The living room, the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedroom. Nothing, not a soul lived in this apartment for six long years, and the dust foretold no other intruders besides himself and a little set of paw prints. He followed those prints all the way under the smelly old sofa. He gave a sigh and bent down to look underneath. There she was, snow white with wide eyes and a scrawny build. Poor thing had to of been freezing outside with how gangly she was. She looked a little worn for wear, one side of her face covered in dried blood. "Well.... Yeh cannae stay under there." He reached for her, hearing her distaste for that specific gesture. But she didn't attack him upon pulling her out he pulled her to him and stood. Her threatening moans caused an amused grunt from him. He didn't saw much else to the gangly feline as he brought her into the bathroom, tending to her wounds. Her constant panting suggested something more was wrong with her, though the only thing he could do was clean and dress her wounds best he could. Wrapping her up in a cloth, he sat with her on the couch, vodka and smokes next to him. Another growl or two came from there as he consumed the alcohol, forcing her to take a little to calm her down. He didn't even notice when he drifted to sleep, putting her lightly with a Maverick Classic between his lips and vodka bottle resting in his lap. And he welcomed it, thanking the vodka for giving him a night of sleep he could no longer achieve without.


	2. Ch2: First Blood

Chapter 2 ~ First Blood

A black Jaguar XKE pulled up to the front of the pawn shop just before the meeting was scheduled to start. it slipped around the corner and into a parking space near the back of the lot. The engine cut and Tolouse stepped out of the driver's seat with his trademark Gitanes Blonde between his lips. He walked around the front and leaned against the wall. Today he was wearing a black fedora on his head as well as the shades. His head was tipped down to obscure his face with shadows. There was no doubting the fact that he stood out at the moment. But he wasn't trying to blend in. Today he needed to be visible so Thomas would recognize him. "And now we shall see if ze stranger took ze invitation or not...." He crossed his arms over his chest to keep them a little warmer and waited patiently. The winter cold was nipping at him, even through the layers.

A fizzing sound hit the spies ears as the carbonation was released from the liquor bottle. The cap was idly thrown to the pavement, discarded and the sweet liquid slid between his lips. The heavy, having actually been there before the spy, sat on the side of a dumpster bin that wasn't visible from where the spy had entered. The Scotsman had anticipated that the man would come from the less busy side of the block, so he sat where he himself would be visible. Seems he had been wrong. "I'm 'ere." He stood and walked out from his perch, taking another swig from the new bottle of Ivanhoff. He walked over carefully, inspecting the sweet ride on the short walk over. His expression didn't show it, but he liked the car. This wasn't his first bottle today, that much was clear. He took a puff from his Maverick and held it in to take another swig. "Aye... So we goin on da'e or somethin?" That statement would be funny if he wasn't so drunk, only slightly.

Tolouse chuckled. "So is zat what you called it?" He straightened up and stepped away from the wall. He could tell the scot was more than a little drunk at this point. It didn't bother him, because he would likely be doing all the talking regardless. "Let's go." He led the way in, and even held the door for Tom. Whether it was out of habit or not wanting to be embarrassed was hard to tell. The shopkeeper set down his magazine and made his way up to the counter. "Wo' can I do for yeh?" Tolouse casually walked up to the counter and tipped his hat up. "I believe you have somezzing of interest to me, no?" Up until that point, the man behind the counter had been relaxed. As soon as he saw the face hidden behind the hat and sunglasses, he tensed up. The spy leaned over the counter and stared him right in the eyes. "So, do you have ze guns or not?" It had taken some time for Tolouse to track down a pawn shop that had what he was looking for. "...Aye. Bu' i'eh be in tha back. I'll ge' i'eh for ye." The man slipped to the back room of the store. Tolouse in the meantime stepped away from the counter to see if they had been followed. So far, so good. He then spoke to Thomas. "So, 'ow good is your aim?"

The scot had allowed the spy to do what he will at the counter while he pretended to be interested with a large globe. He spun it a few times, even as his attention was averted with the spies words. "Hm? I'eh be 'orrible. Me 'and shakes too much." He switched the bottle to his right hand and held his left out. Indeed it was shaking too much to call for decent, let alone good aim. He didn't bother showing the man his right hand, taking another swig from the bottle. The shop was empty save for the heavy and the spy. Pretty damn quiet too, the only thing that really could be heard was the antique grandfather clock ticking and a little bit of symphony playing in the back. The man behind the counter was taking a tad more time than he really should be. The heavy took a drag from his cigarette as the needle coasted into a new song. Tom, he wasn't one for music, and so he had nothing good to say about it. Not that there was any use for his commentary. He walked over to check out the grandfather clock while he struck up a conversation with his new acquaintance. "Wo' is tha' god awful racke'? Sounds like someone couldnae decide wo' the 'ell 'e wanted tah play."

A smirk. "Ah, zat would be Bach's 'Petit' Fugue in G minor." He chuckled at Tom's unamused banter. "Not a fan of ze piano I take it? Perhaps ze guitars Jean enjoys so much are more your taste?" Something was definitely up, but he said nothing. Instead he checked their only exit. A car pulled up to the curb in front of the store. "Merde!" His voice was just above a whisper now. "Monsieur... now would be a good time to take cover." As the doors on the mystery car burst open and two thugs opened fire, Tolouse shoved Tom down and dove for cover below one of the windows. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a classic spy revolver. "Feh, send in a bunch of amateurs with automatics when zey want somezzing dead fast. Typical." Luckily, the outer walls of the building were brick. That was the only thing keeping them from being riddled with bullets.

The loud racket being made by the automatics outside couldn't compare to the what the Scotsman heard every night and waking moment at H-core. Unfortunately in his current state, he wasn't going to be too much help for the spy if he had to shoot someone. "The fuck, Tolouse! Wo' didya do tah piss these people ouf?!" He screamed over the roar of gunfire and shattering glass. He looked around for something, anything that he could do to be somewhat helpful in this situation. "...... Oh bloodeh 'ell! Forge' this!!" He stayed low and made his way into the back, only to be faced with more gunfire and less cover. No. He wasn't going to let so many months of training go to waste because of some idiot gangsters with guns. He dove down and made his way to the man with the gun. He would have no cover past this point. The heavy stood and took the barrage of bullets head on, something Heavies were best for. The pain caused by the bullets imbedding into his skin didn't faze him the slightest bit as he charged the man head-on, smashing the bottle hard against his head, breaking it immediately. The shopkeeper then came out of nowhere and open fired as well. After slicing the shooters neck wide open, Thomas turned and attacked the shopkeeper, imbedding the glass straight into his eye. The man screamed in pain but was immediately silenced once the heavy had gripped his head and twisted harshly, snapping his neck. As the body fell to the ground, Thomas picked up an antique kukri and headed out the back.

Tolouse simply laughed. "I was a spy /long/ before BLU." He checked the rounds in his revolver as Tom slipped around the back. Six rounds, and two or three targets out front to take out. From the back, he heard panicked yelling and two very painful sounding deaths. "Right," he muttered to himself, "do not end up on zat man's bad side." When one of them paused to reload, he took the opportunity to stand up and take aim. He fired a single shot into the man's arm before getting forced back down into cover by the second gunman. He was fast, but not quick enough to avoid being shot entirely. "Tch." He could feel two distinct grazing shots. One on his arm, and the other on his side. He slid into better cover and tried to get a second potshot off. Once again, it was more of a distraction than anything. "Now would be a good time to DO SOMEZZING!" He had shouted out, hoping Tom heard. He blind-fired three more rounds, wounding one of the gunmen and keeping them focused on him.

Rounding the corner and clothes-lining one of the shooters, the heavy rear his arm back and dug the kukri into the back of the next shooters neck, severing the spine. He grabbed the man and used him as a meat shield so he could slam the next man down. And when they hit the ground he took the kukri out of the mans neck and shoved it right through the next ones mouth. He coughed, the gunshots ceasing almost as quickly as they came. The Scotsman's body shook with adrenaline as he sat up a moment to regain his composure. He leaned back a bit, letting his body cool down. Though the conflict was over, he had the distinct impression he was missing something. Just then a click sounded from behind him, and he only had time to turn around before a bullet was shot off. The shooter he had clothes-lined fell to the ground, a bullet straight through his temple. The shaking heavy looked over to see his acquaintance standing, arm extended, and revolver aimed. A slight moment of silence as the spy walked over to him. "Well, abou' time..." The heavy gave another few coughs and he licked his lips. The distinct taste of blood coated his mouth.

A deadpan look crawled onto the spy's face as the car the thugs had showed up in tried to drive away from the scene. He grabbed a dropped SMG and fired the last of the clip into the back windshield of the car. The glass shattered and sprayed shards everywhere. He couldn't tell if he actually hit the driver or not because the car kept moving. It careened around a corner and vanished from sight. Tolouse turned his attention to Thomas, who had blood running down from his lips. "Monsieur, I need to get you to ze 'ospital. but we will be sitting ducks there. 'Ead to ze car while I procure weapons for ze two of us. Do you zink you can make it?" He held the keys out to Thomas. "Ze doors are locked. you will need zese."

The heavy waved his hand at the spy and headed inside. Thomas went into the back room to grab up the guns the two dead bodies still had hold of. He felt a sting in his blood covered hands, and upon wiping the blood from his hand revealed a slice. It was jagged and bled profusely. "Shi'." He sucked on it and walked into the bathroom in the back to his hand with a hand cloth. It wasn't long enough, but lucky him there was a roll of duct tape on the sink. It seemed the owner was far too cheep to purchase a new mirror and just kept duct taping the thing when it cracked. He wrapped some around the palm of his hand. Exiting the bathroom and picked up the shotgun the shopkeeper had, uzi in the other, and went back into the front room to see the spy pouring liquid everywhere. "Wo' the 'ell yeh doin now?"

The spy shrugged as Thomas ignored his advice. He went about picking up every weapon that had been dropped. The semi-automatics would come in real handy. Then he searched behind the counter for what had he originally came for. Sure enough, there was a hidden case, locked attached. He flicked out his butterfly knife out and popped the locks open. Inside was the Ambassador revolver. It brought a wicked smile to his face. "/Zat/ is more like it." He slipped it inside his coat. Along with the gun was an even more coveted piece of equipment. The disguise kit. He took that without a second thought. Nothing else in the store front was of any immediate use to either of them. He grabbed all the bills in the cash drawer and started soaking everything with lamp oil and alcohol. When Thomas came back and asked him what he was doing, he simply chuckled. "Covering our tracks." He grabbed a box of matches. "I would razzeur not be arrested." He struck one of the matches and flicked it at a pool of the highly flammable liquid. Almost immediately it ignited. "And now we get ze 'ell out of here." He tugged Thomas out of the burning pawn shop and towards his car. He got in the driver's side, then reached over and popped the door open.

As the two left the burning building, the Scotsman saw something pass by his vision. Pausing only a moment he saw it was a knife with it's metal sheath. He wasn't much of a gunman so he grabbed it up and headed out the door. He suppressed a cough as he opened the door wider and slid in. The spy had the vehicle already started and shifted the gears, speeding them out of the ally and in the opposite direction of the car that had gotten away. He looked behind them and then to the spy, his face a mix of anger, and annoyance. But he looked away, not saying a word on the subject just yet. "I dinnae abou' you, bu' if yeh seem to be in 'ot wa'er with these fools. Le's gi' ovar to me apartmen'. I'eh would probably be safer then wo' evar yeh 'ad in mind." Another cough forced itself out at the heavy and he couldn't stop the fit. Once finished, he leaned back, keeping his hand against this mouth for a moment. He had to of got hit pretty bad, and the likely culprit was the shotgun. Wiping his mouth against his sleeve, he cleared his throat to try and talk. "Tur-CHrn a' the end of the block. Straigh' till yeh gi' to a one way, then take a lef'. 16 South Fre-CHederick Street." He covered his mouth and went into another coughing fit. "Ah-chh.... Tha' bloodeh dolt go' meh good."  
Tolouse slipped down the streets, making mental note of Tom's directions. A cheeky smile crossed his face. "Taking me back to your apartment already? 'Ave I made zat good of an impression?" He really couldn't help himself. But he sped past the turn he was supposed to take and starting to weave through traffic. " As appealing as ze prospect is, I am taking you to ze 'ospital first." He could tell Tom was not doing well. "I would be a most ungracious guest if I did not."

Thomas wanted to pop the spy upside the head for that perverse remark of his. He was just like Johnny had described him. "I outta fucken smack you! Yeh fucken lucky yer fuckin drivin, a-chhther w-chhi-chhs--!" He covered his mouth as another fit took over, and he cringed when the pain from the wound was powerful enough to feel through the alcohol. The heavy supported himself against the door till the coughing fit had stopped. That time it had pretty much expend the rest of his energy. His vision had started to sway, even with his head against the window. The Scot kept his hand over his mouth and the world around him had begun to blur and swirl together. Slowly he set his hand down away from his face and attempted a few words, clearing his throat. "How long till we get there?"

The spy gave up trying to obey the traffic laws and floored it through a red light. "Not long now. 'Old on." Now he was leaving a trail of blaring horns, angry drivers, and near-collisions behind him. He was roaring down the streets at speeds close to 100mph. He careened around corners and had no regard for any rules of the road. They finally came to a spinning, screeching halt in front of the hospital. "I apologize for ze rough ride." Tolouse covered the stolen weapons with a blanket, then helped Thomas out. He locked the car and guided the heavy into the building. "I will check you in so zat you can get treated faster. What is your name?" It hadn't occurred to Tolouse to ask until now. Mostly because he didn't really need to know. Names become useless when you've lived under dozens of aliases.

"Thomas McGregor, onleh two g's." His voice was raspy and clogged, like a bubble in his throat. He hacked up what was lodged in his throat as they made their way to the receptionist. With a little bit of hassling and a threatening gesture or two by yours truly, he was in the ER and under anesthetics. It seemed only minutes to the heavy when he had gone under, but it had to have been hours. He woke to the beeping of one of the machines, the one monitoring his heart. The ceiling was white, plain and even squares. Despite the fact he had been sleeping, there was still a light lit somewhere in the room, sending a gold vail around the room. He breathed out, a sigh of relief.... no, not relief. Disappointment. The Scotsman sat up slowly to survey the room. This was in vain however, seeing as the curtain was closed. Sitting up, he pulled out the needles stuck in him to keep him alive, pulling the heart monitor off and sending it into panic beeping fit. He rubbed his temples and smacked the thing. "Fuckin, machine."

Tolouse made himself comfortable in the visitor's chair near to Tom's bed. He had insisted on being allowed into the room as soon as they had finished the surgery. when he heard the Scotsman stirring behind the curtain, he chuckled. "Heh. I take it zat you are ready to go?" He checked the window one last time. No suspicious activity outside. "I made zem think I was still using my safehouse. We should have some time before zey come looking for us." He gestured to the small table. "I procured your belongings from ze nurse. What was not ruined in ze fight anyway."

The curtain opened and the heavy leaned out a little, groggy. He didn't say much but a thank you as he took his belongings from the spy. His jacket and his sweater must have been the worse for wear, seeing as they were replaced by a gift-shop windbreaker and a sweater. He never understood why hospitals had gift-shops, there wasn't really any use for them, well except for this. It only took the heavy a few moments to dress and the two were out of the room. There was going to be some trouble with signing the Scot out. He looked around and then to the taller man. "So, 'ow yeh gonna go abou' makin them le' me ou'? Yer the spy so yeh talk our way ou'a 'ere. "

Tolouse merely grinned. "Oh I believe I can 'andle zat." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the disguise kit he pilfered. "And now you just play along. If we are lucky, zey won't ask too many questions." He made some adjustments to the buttons, and with a quick puff of blue smoke, he now looked exactly like one of the nurses in the hospital. "They won't know wo'eh happened to yeh now." He opened the door. "Follow meh, mister McGregor." It was unnerving how accurate the disguise was. "Ah'll walk ye to yer car." 'She' simply guided him out of the hospital like nothing was going on.

It was amazing on how no one had stopped them, no one had asked questions. Someone should have stopped them, should have done something. It was like this sort of thing happened on a daily basis. This spy was good, even though the disguise kit only changed his appearance, he pulled off the persona like it was real. Thomas was taken aback. He had only known 2 spies, out of the several that passed through the battlements at 4 different forts he had been stationed in, only two spies had that great of disguise. The late Milo Tonks back at Gravelpit, Shkives of Well, and now he could add another to the list. The two walked out to the car, in plain sight of everyone, and even as they sat in the vehicle still no one said a word. That made Tom more nervous, maybe they were being set up for failure? It was possible. Maybe someone at the hospital had spied on them, or called for backup like the shopkeeper did. As they drove the heavy kept looking out the windows and through the mirrors, checking for any signs that they were being followed, well best he could for an untrained eye. "......'Ow long was I ou'eh?"

Tolouse let the disguise slip off as soon as they were driving away. it was unnerving to see the visage of the pretty nurse simply fade away. "Several 'ours. Zey had to make sure you would stay under while zey removed ze bullets." He was driving very carefully now, trying his best not to attract attention. "I made zem assume I was still using the same safehouse. Zey will be tearing ze place apart, but it will give us some time." He took a long, roundabout way back to the apartment. "Tell me, most men would 'ave fallen unconscious when in zat much pain. 'Ow is it zat you did not?"

Thomas had glanced over to see the spy bleeding out of the disguise and looked away immediately. Fiddling with the bandage on his left hand for a minute the heavy stared out the window. He still didn't feel right about the smooth get-away. A grunt was forced out and he took the knife with the metal sheath out from under the seat, inspecting it. "1955 standard issue armeh knife. An original?" He started to mess with it, at first ignoring the spy's question. After testing the sharpness of the knife he looked to the spy, his expression cold. "Detra." He figured that's all he really needed to say. Short, to the point, and it explained everything. He looked back out the window. The spy would have to try harder to get him talking more.

The spy nodded when he mentioned the knife. "So, you are one of ze H-Core assets? Impressive." He chuckled. "So was zat before or after you became involved with Jean?" He was curious about the man now. How did Johnny even get involved with a man like this?

An annoyed sigh escaped the heavy as more questions arose. What was he so interested in anyway? He looked over to the man and then back to the road. He sheathed the blade and put it on his lap. He was iffy on what he could actually tell the spy. The man didn't know what team he came from. And maybe he couldn't trust him like Johnny could. Sure, the spy's agenda is to rid the men who have the potential to hurt Johnny, but he was a spy. Can anyone truly trust a spy? "......... I knew 'im before I wen' tah Russia. We were stationed a' the Well base in Arizona. 'E be RED Leader..... I left tah gi' be'er a' me job...." In Detra's H-core program, they had a tendency to strip their trainee's of their very personality and turn them into unfeeling and nearly unstoppable war machines. Some left, others died, some went insane. At the end there are at least 1/4th the starting amount that graduate. Tom happened to be one of them. ".... I needed the training...." He was reluctant to continue on with the story. Perhaps that would satisfy the spy for now. He looked out the window, recognizing the area. They were only two blocks away from his building.

Tolouse sighed as he pulled closer to the building. He wasn't going to get any more out of Thomas. Not now anyway. Still, he had two interesting bits of information. First, Johnny had managed to get himself a position of leadership. Second, the rumors about Detra Hostile were at least half true. He pulled into the alleyway and pulled into the section of the lot behind the building. He wasn't taking any chances. They could be followed at any time. And the /last/ thing they needed right now was another gunfight. With one hand on his butterfly knife, they crept up the back stairs. But something seemed off. He knew it. Tom probably knew it. He popped open the door to the apartment. "Somezzing is not right. Zat escape was too easy." Even with the cover of night falling, they were unchallenged.

The two had gotten to the door safely still. But there was something off, like someone was watching them. But no one was in sight and no noises came from the halls except for the occasional TV sound. So the heavy let the spy in, bolting all five of the locks down when they were in. Thomas turned to the man and glared. He never liked anyone in the apartment when he was younger, and he didn't now. But there really was nothing much he could do, he had invited the man in after all. Walking to the fridge he picked up a bottle of vodka and popped the top at the counter. The spy seemed to wander the small apartment, eyeing everything. There were no photo's, there were no momentous, there weren't even curtains. But the windows were small, thin. The winter wind coming through them and causing a draft. Everything was crisp, military. Cold. It reflected the life the scotsman had lived as a child and still lives to this day. A few swigs of the alcohol and the heavy headed to follow the spy, driving him out of his room. "Yer gonna be sleeping on the couch in there. There be a clean comforter in the close' by the door. Dinnae yeh go snoopin around no more. Yeh go' tha?" He had gotten a smirk from the spy and then closed the bedroom door. A low growl came from behind him. The white cat lay in a cushioned box in the corner. He sat down on the bed, slowly taking off the jacket and the sweater and tossing them aside. He lay on the bed and stared at the feline, she staring back at him. Silence filled the room, he took another few gulps from the bottle. The drugs in his system and the alcohol he was consuming seemed to try and combat each other, he could feel the nausea trying to overcome him. But he ignored it. "Wo?" She looked away from him for a second. Then looked back with a stern look. "Well aren' you doin be'ar." She looked away again, giving another growl. Her black tail patted up and down. As he took another drink, she growled again. ".... Yer no' me mum...." The heavy smirked and shook his head. He was having a conversation with a cat. How odd.


	3. Ch3: The Spider's Web

Chapter 3~ The Spider's Web

Tolouse had feigned falling asleep on the couch to fool Thomas while the man self medicated with alcohol. Once he was sure his host was pretty much down for the night, he slipped into the bathroom. He was going to figure this guy out if it killed him. Which just might happen if he screwed up. He pulled the "repossessed" disguise kit out and fiddled with the settings. This had to be perfect. To make it more real, he removed everything but his slacks. Then he activated the little device. A characteristic puff of smoke melted his features away. Now "Johnny" stood before the mirror. Or rather Johnny as he looked when Tolouse last saw him; younger and with far fewer scars. He cleared his throat and forced himself to remember how the pyro used to speak to him. When he was confident enough, he stepped out. He waited until he could hear a soft snore coming from the other room, then he made his move. He crept into the bedroom barefoot and slid onto the bed. The impostor matched Johnny's tone and accent wonderfully. "To-om~", he crooned. "Wake up." Tolouse straddled his waist and lay down on the man's chest, like Johnny had done so many times.

The spy didn't have to wait long for the heavy to wake up. Touching him was all it really took. His body jerked and his eyes opened, the man grabbed the 'pyro' by the shoulders fast, like he had sometimes done back at Well. At first he was in shock, not knowing if he was hallucinating from the alcohol or still dreaming. ".... John?.... W-wo' are y... Where?....." The heavy seemed baffled in his drunken stupor. A swish from the bottle could be heard as he adjusted in his bed, sitting up a little. He leaned his head forward, rubbing his palms in his eyes as if he could wipe away his inebriation. For just a few moments the heavy was convinced that he was back in Well. That he never went to H-core. But there was something weird about his left hand. Something different than before. Thomas pulled his hand away from his face to see that it was wrapped. Why was his hand wrapped? Why was he wrapped up? There was something he was missing. His sight now lay on the pyro, the moonlight partially lighting the room, just enough for the heavy to see the right side of the mans face. It looked like Johnny alright. Those beautiful chocolate eyes, barely visible in the light, stared down at him with confusion. "Wo'?"

Tolouse smiled at the heavy underneath him. "Shhhh..." It was almost too easy. Still, even the tiniest slip of his disguise would ruin it. "Take it easy. You've been drinking again." He gingerly picked up the vodka bottle and set it on the floor next to the bed. Then he slid further up onto Tom's chest, almost as proof that "he" was really there. He even pantomimed the motions Johnny always used when he wanted to entwine their fingers together. "What's bothering you baby? Talk to me." He slid into place so that the two of them were cuddling. Perhaps the booze and the proximity to his "lover" would loosen the man's tongue. He even pecked Tom on the lips and slid an arm under his neck. "Please, let me help you?" He figured as long as Tom either didn't kiss him too much or was too drunk to notice something was off, he would get away with it easily. He lazily toyed with the stray strands of hair on Tom's head.

Thomas was confused. Everything about him, the way he acted and the way he talked. It had to have been Johnny. Maybe he was in Well, that he had hurt himself in one of his drunken rages again. But then why did it feel so wrong to be held by him. The heavy turned his head away and looked around, trying to find something to prove this wasn't, or was, happening. He found nothing, but the walls, they were dingy but they weren't colored blue like the rest of the base. And they weren't red either. The heavy sat up a bit and looked around. ".... w... Where....?" Thomas could not grasp hold of reality, try as he might. But the sounds, the lights passing by the window, they couldn't be in Well. He rubbed his face again. The alcohol had gotten him good this time. "Мы находимся в Глазго?" The Russian slipped out, with a hint of a European accent. And the man didn't even catch himself.

Tolouse came SO CLOSE to blowing his cover by answering that question. "Ah-" He could understand Russian perfectly, along with about seven or eight other languages. Johnny on the other hand, could only understand english and french. He quickly feigned total ignorance. "Huh? What'd you say?" He rolled off to Thomas' side. "You're making no sense. Why don't you go back to sleep?" And finally, he slipped. But he didn't even realize it. The /left/ side of his face was illuminated, and something was way off. His face was perfect. No painful looking burn scar taking up most of his cheek and part of his neck. He'd been a bit girlish with the scars. Without them he was downright /pretty/. But no way this was the Johnny Tom knew. Even if he did act exactly the same.

And that's all that the heavy needed to see to figure out this wasn't real. He sat up fast and grabbed the lamp on the bedside table. "Bloodeh fuckin spahs!!" He yelled out and threw it at the man. He didn't even wait to see if it hit. As the lamp crashed into pieces he pulled open the table drawer, grabbing a .49 and turning to give off a shot. An empty click sound went echoed in the room, but the spy had been long gone. A growl from the feline snapped him to attention. He cursed at himself for over reacting, but the spy deserved a lamp to the head. Even so, he wouldn't get too far without the spy. He tapped the empty .49 on his forehead and looked to the cat, who in turn hissed. ".......I know..." He stood and proceeded to clean up the broken glass and shattered porcelain.

The spy had frozen momentarily when he was figured out. "What?" When Tom's look of shock turned to rage, he knew he had to move. He jumped up and fled the room but the lamp hit the back of his head. He clutched at it and swore as he put on some clothes and grabbed his cigarettes. "Merde!" He pulled on his coat as he left the apartment. But he didn't go far. He couldn't. Tolouse slipped into the darkened alleyway to be alone -and away from the now angry heavy upstairs. "'Ow did 'e figure zat out," the spy asked himself as he made way down the back stairs. "Ze disguise was perfect!" He pondered the events that had transpired and lit a cigarette. Somehow, his disguise had failed. he needed to figure out how and when.

The alley was dark, save for a lit window or a passing vehicle. The sky, covered still in a dull cloud, seemed far darker than even the few area's that the night sky peered through. The city sounds did nothing to qualm the eerie feeling the alley emanated. Like lightning a thin wire, barely visible to the untrained eye, came down and wrapped around the spies neck and lifted him off the ground. The spy never saw it coming. He had been too wrapped in figuring out how he failed. Suddenly something paper thin was cutting off his airflow and his feet lifted off the ground. The cigarette fell from his lips as he thrashed to escape a silent death. But mindless flailing was going to get him nowhere. He searched his pockets frantically before finding his trusty butterfly knife. The plain black handle turned and flipped in his hands with practiced ease. He slammed his elbow backwards, hoping to catch his attacker in the solar plexus. Then he brought the razor sharp blade up to the wire suspending him in the air and snapped it. As soon as he was free, he vaulted away from the spot and turned to face his attacker. "Zat was a mistake, Assassin." His pulse was pounding in ears and he was struggling to catch his breath, but he looked outwardly calm. The madman's grin crept across his face again as he raised the knife and loosened his shirt collar. "You 'ave been 'unting dogs for too long." With that he slipped into a proper fighting stance. "It will take far better zan zat to catch a /real/ fox."

A chuckle came from a figure that had actually been above the spy. This /assassin/ had been hiding up on the fire escape, quietly waiting till the spy had come into the perfect position. He hung there now, leaned over the railing of the fire escape, the man was pitch black. His eyes were the only reasonably visible thing on him. Leaning up, he grabbed the railing, threw his legs in front of him and letting go simultaneously. He landed on his feet with all his weight, a loud thunk echoed down the alley, the man crouched. Oddly so his back was to the spy for a few moments before he began to stand. His voice rightly matched his size, and as he stood he unlatched a blade from it's holster and sheath. "Dogs, mon? No, more like rats. Yah know dem kinds, mon. But a fox? Never snagged dem befer. Must be mah luckeh deh." Despite the mans size, he had moved fast, coming at the spy and slashing with what looked to be a machete.

The spy chuckled maliciously. "All too well, monseiur." This guy was good. To hang upside-down from a fire escape and lift him off the ground without being noticed was no small feat. This guy was actually making him a bit nervous. But he had been /itching/ for a real fight. "I 'ave gone too long wizzout a challenge." He half stepped backwards as Milo charged him, then attempted to block it with his knife. He knew it wasn't going to stop the much larger blade. the best he could do is make the swing non-fatal. He bent his body to follow the momentum of the swing as the sharp end of the machete slipped past the knife and across his arm. He let out a hiss of pain as it dug into the soft tissue. "Not bad." As he fell to the ground from the force, he slashed upwards at his attacker's neck. "But I 'ave to end zis."

The assassin stepped back as there was a deathly swing to his neck. He felt the thin blade slice but it wasn't too deep, still the man would need some mending done when this was over. But there was this wicked smirk on his face as he pulled his other arm by his face and bit at thin air. Just then a car had passed by and the spy would be able to see a long wire stretching from the mans teeth to Tolouse's wrist that held the butterfly. The string then was pulled hard, hard enough to cut into skin and release the butterfly knife. The wire string slipped off the knuckles roughly and pulled the knife away from the spy, disarming him. And the man discarded the blade and a zipping sound could be heard as the wire had rolled itself back up into where ever the man had it hidden away. "Too bad, mon. I was just starten tah have some fun with yuh." There was a smile in his voice now and the black man bowed with predator eyes.

Tolouse swore as the wire dug into his flesh and forced him to drop the knife. He glared at the spy standing above him before launching himself feet first at the man. He knocked his attacker to the ground and landed on top of him. "Oui. Ce serait une telle honte. Cependant, je suis juste de commencer." The cuts were throbbing, his pulse was pounding in his ears, and he hadn't felt this .../alive/ in some time. " C'est beaucoup de plaisir à danser avec vous dans la lune. Pour rencontrer une araignée dans sa toile et vivre est un plaisir rare. Celui que je tiens à savourer un peu plus longtemps." As he slipped into his native tongue his true nature began to show. He craved the thrill more than any drug. Tolouse grabbed the hand that held the machete by the wrist and slammed it against the hard pavement to disarm him as well. "Dites-moi, est-il plus amusant d'être le chasseur ou le chassé?"

The assassin grabbed the spy's head with both his hands. He pulled the man into a head butt and tossed him off. "Sorry, mon. But I like dah top view bettah." He got ontop of the man and with his his whole body pinned him down, straddling him. There was no longer any threat to kill the man. The spy's eyes were half lidded, eyebrows raised, and he had this cheeky little smile. "A spider you say? Dat's pretteh accurate. But yah give me too much credit, mon. Am sure you caught a few flies in your web as well." His smile widened and a deep chuckle escaped his lips. "Dah names Tonks, mon. Milo Tonks. And yeh be?" It was unsure why the assassin was now getting personal with Tolouse, but he no longer seemed to want to kill the man.

Tolouse was caught off guard by the headbutt, and the blow was enough to stun him for a few seconds This guy was good. All he could do at this point was chuckle. "If you wanted ze top, you could 'ave just said somezzing." He knew he could be killed at any point in time. But the man chose to play with him instead. "Ze name you will know me by is Tolouse Lauront. That is what they put on my tombstone." Strangely enough, he didn't mind this turn of events. That wicked grin was still plastered on his face. "Nous sommes tous deux des prédateurs. Je vais prendre ce que je peux attraper, mais je savoure seulement les meilleures. Toutefois, ce n'est pas ce que vous demandez vraiment. Vous voulez savoir si je vais combiner affaires et plaisir. La question Je vous demande, c'est si vous voulez me tuer tout de suite. "

Milo licked his top lip as the man spoke his native tongue again. The assassin understood, that was apparent. He looked down the alley in thought, keeping a firm grip on the spy and even gripping his lower half between his thighs so the man couldn't wiggle out. "Mixing business with pleasure. Hm.... If we can do dat, den why kill yeh right away?" He looked back down to the spy. "Yah interest meh, mon. So, mahbeh I can beh.... persuaded. Heheh, mahbeh I can spare yer life for now." He bit his bottom lip, getting slowly closer the more he spoke. "Of course dis could mess up mah record, mon. I've nevah missed a hit in meh life. Wouldn wantah start now." He took the bleeding hand and sucked on the cut made by the wire, still eyeing his target and making sure he still couldn't move enough to get away.

Tolouse licked his lips seductively and whispered. "You and I both know better than to pretend a good time will change 'ow zis encounter ends. It will still be your job to kill me, and I will still erase you from existence if you fail. Zat is just 'ow ze game works." He leaned forward and kissed Milo right on the lips. This wasn't the kiss of a lover, or fueled by passion. It was Tolouse's kiss of death. "Je sais que je suis un homme qui marche morts. Je ne m'attends pas ou ne veulent même pas vous changer cela. Mais le bourreau offre toujours la voué une dernière requête. Voici le mien: je veux terminer quelque chose pour quelqu'un qui m'a aimée. Vous n'avez pas épargné ma vie ce soir. Vous êtes un simple ajournement de ma mort pour des raisons égoïstes."

A deep and genuine laugh echoed from the Jamaican. "Den tdat makes dah two of us." He grabbed the french mans face roughly, dominantly. He spoke low, almost hissing, teeming with aggression. But still smiling, like this was the thrill of his life. "Tell you wut, mon. I'll... postpone the inevetahble foe now. But yeh still be mah mark. I'll kill yah when we both awr done usin one anothah. And just foe you, I'll let yah know I'm comin. So..." He gave a wink and leaned in for a kiss. Instead he bit Tolous' lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he sucked on it even dragging his tongue on the fresh cut. Pulled his head back he let go of the man. "wuts your favorite flavor?"


End file.
